


Dog Days: The Anthology

by Izzy_Reigne



Category: Dog Days Anthology, Original Work, Short Stories - Fandom, WAttpad - Fandom
Genre: Anthology, Authors, Collaboration, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Romance, Summer, Thriller, collection, commontheme, dogdays, dogdaysofsummer, prompt, shortstories - Freeform, shortstory, summerprompt, variousgenres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzy_Reigne/pseuds/Izzy_Reigne
Summary: DOG DAYS: An anthology of short stories consisting of the essence of the final days of summer, that of which are known as the dog days.EDITED BY:Izzy ReigneAVAILABLE ON:Wattpad, Archive of Our Own, and Website.
Kudos: 1





	1. Notice of Copyright

**Copyright © 2020  
Izzy_Reigne "Publishing"**

**Notice of Copyright**

Copyright of individual works is maintained by the respective writers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

**Selected and Edited by:**  
Izzy Reigne

**Cover by:**  
Izzy Reigne – Canva

**Typesetting and Interior Design by:**  
Clean Book Interior Design

**Distributed by Izzy_Reigne Publishing**  
Created in the United States of America  
Available from Wattpad, Archive of Our Own, and Website.


	2. Quote

**"Writing is a dog's life, but the only life worth living."**

\- Gustave Flaubert  
 _(_ _1821-1880)_


	3. Introduction

This anthology is a collaboration of various writers. While these short stories are collected here, they are not collective stories. These tales are the heartfelt work of each individual writer. Each writer, who in these times characterized by an odd transition and rampant illness, came together to offer each other creative gifts—stories of these dog days.

 _Dog Days_ is a collection whose purpose is to put into words these odd and unique feelings that grow between mid-July and the winding first days of August that lead up to school, whose purpose is to be able to portray the myriad of those seasonal-twilight events, of the stories we have all heard before in the form of Gatsby's gardens and a thousand hot hotel rooms—tales that we have heard before, but yearn to hear again, that we yearn to _write_ again.

 _Dog Days_ is a collection whose purpose is to embody such things, and whose goal is to gather as many as possible—as many stories as the challenged authors are willing to give, as many authors as are willing to take up the challenge. It is the last hurrah in these strange weeks that seem to stretch an eternity.

In these final weeks of summer, when the days are long, the sun is fat, and idleness blooms in the withering heat, various writers took up a sort of challenge. Together they picked up something to do with those hot, restless hours. Here is the fruit of their work; various short stories, no less than a 1,000 words inspired by those dog days—those days of affairs, of tragic love, of erotic nights, of hot hotels, of back to school commercials, to be placed within a collection titled "Dog Days". As Plath put it, "...the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time."

As a finishing touch, a gratuitous thank you to all the authors who have taken up this challenge: Izzy Reigne, Carson Ledger, Mariela Alejandra, FloweryBubbleDragon, and L.R. Cole.

And to the creator, who, with a few friends, crafted this challenge and organized the collection, Izzy Reigne, thank you.

**-L.R. Cole**


	4. In the Corner

**"In the Corner" by Carson Ledger**

_Depression & Suicide warning. If you cannot read such things, I do not suggest you read this short fictional story._

____________

In the corner, where I may sit. Where the sunshine and shadows seem to collide under my ceiling.

I am sorry, were you expecting a happy story in the sun? Expected this hermit personality to bathe in the terrible waves of the sun? No! Unlike the other stories you have read and heard either orally or visually, my story is that of Dread. If you are looking for a character or person dealing with unimaginable things, as I myself did, and expect them to overcome it, this then is not the place for you. My story, unlike most, is one that I know I cannot win. And I know I will die. With this knowledge, if you continue to read, I implore you to rethink. Cast this aside, weigh your options, for what you are about to read, is the life a real human. In the truly terrifying world that he lives in. Though my mind may be seceding from my being, I still retain the knowledge of those horrors which I have witnessed. With this in mind, I remind you to please rethink your options—skip this story if you must, because, I will not be alive to warn you again after I recount and tell you my story.

My story begins and ends at my house. A familiar place for many including myself. But for you to know of the horrors I have witnessed, you must know who I am, and what took place that unfortunate December Night.

I am young Walter Draun. A librarian was my mother, and as was my father. Well, he was not around much or at all. My fondest memories are of a man I barely remember. And the memories themself I could never recall that well. My father, a man I only met a few times as a newborn, was a wealthy man—or so I was told by my mother. She had always been the person I really, truly loved more than anyone else growing up. Although I had siblings once, they all died during the Great Depression while at work in the mine. During the time of their deaths I was only a baby. Since she raised me on her own, without a single hand to help, I always felt a pang of deep guilt—I was her last child alive and the last child she could ever have. My mother and I had a happy life. We were not as poor as the common man, however nor were we rich by any standards. How my mother ever got money is beyond me, but still, if I were not there, I could have prevented her tragic downfall from grace. Or maybe not, as you soon will learn.

It is Summertime now, what you would call the "Dog Days." Though, it does not feel like Summer; it is more like the worst days of my life. Last year, in December, my mother was put in an asylum, for insomnia, and various psychotic episodes that would warrant fearful mental illness. As the months progressed, I would occasionally visit my mother. Even in her, err, state, she seemed still as normal as any mother would be when she is at home. I got a job and started giving her presents. I kept mailing them to her even though I knew the institution would not give them to her. I thought she was going to be moved to the prison, but it seemed the Warden led me in the wrong direction. I kept sending gifts because I have made it big as a writer for a popular magazine, and I wanted that small peace of mind saying that I at least had tried to reach my mother. Although, before the month of August I received the devastating news.

August was a very depressing time for me as I lived and I thought. Leaves changed color and the vibe of Summer began to fade into the gloomy, almost hopeful despair August brings. Hopeful despair is the one thing I know that will change. The hopeful days of Summer become my despair. I hoped I could worry about something else in August. Well, that is how it was for me. I always viewed August as a time for mourning. That day, I had received the news of my mother's death. I drove over to the funeral home, and there I talked with her old lawyer, John Hibert. There he told me the horrendous truth of why my mother was truly sent to the institution.

He spoke in a very dim, rueful voice. It almost brought a tear to my eye just by hearing him greet me in such a voice of horror and dread. His voice crept upon my skin, just like the final days of summer, or the sad conclusion to a hopeful evening romance.

He sat and told me that my siblings' deaths were not an accident from the mines, but a murder—a massacre, if you will—that was committed by my mother. She put it in her suicide note to warn me of how strong and how very scary Love can be. She had murdered my father, and when my siblings found his lifeless corpse in the floorboards of my bedroom when I was just a year old, she killed them as well. She confessed her crimes against humanity in such an awfully casual way.

The thing that scared me the most, was the fact that the man I so little, but fondly remember was dead, and under my floorboards was his rotting corpse. And I was never the wiser. To think, if I was only a little more curious of the atrocious smell I always had put to the back of my mind. My mother would have killed me. I... wish she would have so I would not have grown to learn of and live bound by her sins.

Here I am, in the corner. Awaiting Summer's change, for with that change will come my death—my only way to salvation. To think, she was so close to killing me, what kind of mother have I been loving and idolizing? My vision of her changed from a hard-working mother to a devilish and destructive woman she came out to be. I wish I could understand it. Although she was dangerous, she always took care of me. But what mother would put on a happy face knowing that she might have to kill her only, and last child? Her mind must have been even more twisted than what I and the lawyer thought it to be.

This Hangman's Knot is my fall from grace, I hold it with the two hands I held my own little baby with. I hold it with the hand on which I bear my wedding ring, the hand that wrote the best-selling novel in history yet. Depression comes with happiness. It is just lurking within the shadows, waiting. Just like Autumn does to Summer. But I will not be coming back around as Summer usually does. My final notes will be of my family.

Goodbye to my family. Johanna, please do not use my death as a means to put our two little girls in an orphanage.

Anna, please know, what I have never known, that your father loves you. The same extends to you, my unborn Mistress Alice. Your daddy loves the both of you with all of his heart. And though you may never see me again, or in Alice's case, ever, note that my love goes out to all my family. And though I know my death would be a tragedy for you all, please be stronger than me. I do not think I could recover from my current state of mind. That is why this has to be the last words from your father, and your husband.

Johanna, I know we have only been married for four years, but my time with you has been the best of my life. And when you gave me my first daughter, I thought we could live to old age together, so I am so terribly sorry for what I have done. Please be stronger than I am. If not for your sake, please do it for our family who you love and adore so much.

Goodbye, my one and only, goodbye my lovely Anna. And goodbye to my special girl Alice. Remember me as a kind man, and think of me as a great man. Farewell.


	5. Counterfeit Summer

**"Counterfeit Summer" by L.R. Cole**

__________

It always starts with a bit of summer rain—always early in the morning, with a quiet hush of whispers. They pervade as millions of tears are dropped by the clouds. Streaks of blue just barely peer across the clouds. It is there in those quiet hours that Lily can see just what the phrase 'a silver lining' comes from. The wind even blows a bit; beautiful and cool. If Lily wakes up at the right time, she can catch the morning right before it gets muggy, because by six the sun will push away the clouds. It will bask the whole world in a soft yellow light. Then it will stick whatever raindrops are left in the air to people's skin like too-wet-cotton-candy. Maybe if it were just as sweet, Lily would like it more. As it is, the pale-skinned girl cannot stand to be outside in weather like that. It feels awful. Worse, it is a sure sign that school is nipping at summer's heels.

Even though it is technically summer, it feels fake, like someone dressed up these last few weeks in an outfit that looks like summer, but it clearly is not. It sure does not sound like summer. Every time Lily listens to the radio or turns on the telly, a bunch of different advertisements start jabbering a million miles an hour about back-to-school deals. It is irritating and never fails to ruin her mood before she ever gets to the music or show. It does not smell like summer either. Not anymore. The shops around downtown have stopped offering their summer specials. Instead of whiffs of sea-salt pops and iced fruit, the scents of apples and cinnamon make their way through the streets. Do not get her wrong, Lily loves the warm autumn scents, but they are bittersweet at first; just one more sign that school is at her doorstep despite the lazy sun that sits drolly in the sky.

She sighs, pulling herself out of bed and ending the alarm that has been beeping at her for the past few minutes. Peering at the white numbers lighting up the grey netting of the radio device, Lily winces at the time. Twelve-thirty. In the afternoon. She must have hit the snooze button a million times since eight that morning. She is not surprised, though. In the odd weeks stretching between mid-July and the first day of school she always feels heavy, like her limbs are dreading the next school year. Her mind goes hazy, too. Like there is a blurry film coating every thought as it drifts around in her brain. Even now she has been standing at her bedside table for a good three minutes. Just thinking. About everything and yet nothing at all. She really needs to get out of her room. That is, if she really wants to start whatever is left of the day.

She has at least two weeks to get her school supplies ready, which means she really does not have to do it today. Especially with her family out of the house for most of the day. Her parents have taken advantage of their children's advancement in years and had reserved the weekend for themselves. Her brother, keen on ducking out of Lily's temporary authority, had left as well. As such, Lily now has the house to herself. Of course, the rest of the day only lasting for maybe five more hours. Lily glances back at her clock, checking the time again. Yeah. Five hours all to herself since she has already wasted over half of her day sleeping. She shakes her head.

Padding out of her room, Lily shivers at the cold air of the rest of the house. With her window directly over her bed and the afternoon light peering in between her blinds, her room is always uncomfortably warm during this time of day. The halls are empty. Her footsteps echo into the quiet, bouncing off the walls in a set of lonely chords. Making it down the stairs, Lily finds herself heading to the living room. She casts her eyes to her reading nook nestled into the corner of the room.

It is just a sideways bookcase from Ikea, really. Pushed into the wall and slotting in perfectly between the wall adjacent to the sliding glass door and the beginning of the door frame. Her papa had helped her layer a long seat cushion and a strip of memory foam wrapped up in an old bedsheet along the top of it. The bedsheet is one of the ones that cinch at the corners, hiding its contents from view. The bedsheet's old, faded green is streaked with sunbeams. The matching green back-pillow is slumped a little against the wall. It is the perfect spot to get a little bit of reading in during this slow, summer afternoon. Lily smiles. She is glad she did not have to wait the hours through the long-way 'round.

Lily kneels in front of the bookcase, fingers grazing over the spines of several books. Each cover is well-worn and peeling. The collection is a mixture of old books Lily had taken a shine to, like _The Scarlet Letter_. As well as ones more commonly seen these days, such as _The Assassin's Blade_. Stuffed into the wooden shelves cover to cover, squished in as long as there is space. A little book haven. Lily's eyes flicker across the titles, considering and discarding each book at will. Eventually, her eyes stop moving, her hands feeling a soft leather tickling at her fingertips. Lily knows this book. Knows every page like the back of her hand. Remembers the late June evenings of some faded yesteryear wherein her papa would read it to her page by page. Gently, Lily pulls the book from its place wedged in-between two hardcover novels. It slips free easily, and she already knows how her next five hours will be spent.

Lily tucks the book under her arm, standing just enough to be able to sit on the cushion. She scoots back, adjusting the back-pillow between herself and the wall until she is comfortable. The settling sun gave her just enough light to read by in the shadowed corner. Lily cracked open the old book, flipping through the pages. The paper is like silk beneath her fingers. It is not long before she is pinching the pages, the thin paper sticking from static as she searches for the beginning. As soon as she sees them, her mind is already reading the familiar words. The beginning of a story she already knows practically by heart. Her lips bend into a small grin as in her head, her papa's voice begins its baritone lilt:

_Love is a funny thing, you know? We both knew we only had the summer. Yet we didn't care. Diving in headfirst to the soundtrack of a crackling radio almost drowned out by the cicadas. Sitting there in that old pick-up truck, one I had seen a million times before... It figures we would fall in love at the very last moment. Right before the end. In those few short weeks between summer and school's autumn. Our dog days._


	6. Her Name Was Ruth

**"Her Name Was Ruth" by Izzy Reigne**

__________

The scent of smoke was overpowering. It puffed up into large clouds wafting across the ceiling, and it burned his eyes. Flashes of bright green and blue numbed and deceived his eyes as the streamers flew about his head. The music was loud yet sophisticated, and people danced all around him, blithe romantics of their opulent age. He stumbled once and apologized profusely, addressing the bunch of golden balloons he had disturbed.

If he had been asked a year prior, James would never have imagined himself a buffoon basking in the boisterous ambience of this bacchanal. January had been a rude awakening for many, and one that many chose not to accept, those many rolling over and pulling the silk duvet over their heads and living as if the sun had not yet risen. The sweltering heat of summer was finally coming to an end now, and places like these were not uncommon, as frightful as it were to admit, yet James did not frequent them. This had been a rare occasion, one that he had finally obtained the confidence to attend solo. In hindsight, perhaps he should have invited Thomas. He could not drive home now, what with the way the world seemed to sway and shake around him, his vision uncertain. At the time the problem was minor, and he did not stop to think of what he would do. After all, that was a problem for the James of the future, not the one set upon dancing with the crowd.

She was striking. She was more than striking. However, it was not due only to her appearance--ravishing as she was. If she were ugly, he would have noticed her. If she were beautiful, he would have noticed her. Tall or short, heavy or skinny, if there was anything distinguishable about her, he would have simply noticed her. The problem was that he had not only noticed her, he was drawn to her as a moth is to a flame. He was stuck staring like a fool. She was a simple girl whose very presence would have screamed "don't notice me," except that screaming draws the wrong type of attention, as if the way she danced did not warrant enough pairs of eyes on her. She jumped about and grinned, throwing herself to and fro and having the courage to actually enjoy herself. She was not like the other women, the women in James' life presently. No, she was nothing like those women. She was different. She was free.

Her blonde hair moved in a strawberry-scented cloud as she laughed at herself after a tumble. Another woman helped her to her feet. His eyes drifted, as usual, to the swell of her hips, swathed in a knee-length black skirt that fit a touch too tight for modesty. He stared a little too long. He lifted his eyes and caught hers. Embarrassed, he looked towards the counter he remembered he had wanted to order a drink from. It was too late. To his poor hammering heart's horror, the woman made her way across the floor to him, and she placed herself on the stool to his right. She leaned in close. He swallowed.

"Did you intend to stare at me all night?" She inquired, her voice smooth, but still soft and pleasing to his ears. She waited a moment, watching him stammer and fidget in his seat, becoming clammy and further embarrassed by the second. She gave a knowing smile. "In that case, you ought to buy my next drink, Stranger."

James had no idea what to make of this woman. The sheer chutzpah of her was enough to shut him down and forget all reason. He nodded and turned his head to the counter once more, motioning to the burly man behind it with two fingers. The man poured them each a drink. James held his glass with sweaty hands, while the woman swallowed half of the contents of her glass in one go.

It was only after the next drink that James spoke. Upon the question, she answered with grace that her name was Ruth, and that she lived down the road from there. She mentioned that she had seen him before, working in that tiny office in the back of the bank, to which he regretfully admitted that yes, that was him. She did not seem to mind, however.

"You're not weak for that. You always look so busy, always working like you do. That's good. A man who's serious about what he does, no matter what it is, is a better man than most." Ruth explained.

He had never heard of it that way before. He nodded his head anyway and finished his glass off since she had been done for minutes already. "Can-" He swallowed. "Can I dance with you, Miss Ruth?"

Ruth laughed, a melodious sound, and she grabbed at his arm and stood with him, dragging him back to the center of the room. That had been answer enough for James.

Was it simply luck that had caused her to be in the same place as he? James was not certain, but he did not take it for granted. They danced, laughed, opened up to one another the whole night through.

By the time the owners were attempting to kick everyone out, James knew many things about Ruth. She was an artist, a painter to be precise. He had not been surprised. Her eccentric choices in speech were enough to shine a light on the evident creativity she possessed. She was selfish when it came to politics, yet she had a big heart. She loved chocolate biscuits with iced tea, and she had a ridiculous fear of crocodiles. James was pleased to learn of these little things she spouted off in her stupor at various points during their dancing.

James walked outside with her, and she was still clinging to his right arm as she had been nearly all night. He had made to politely part from her and bid her good night, with plans to walk the length of Manhattan until he reached home, but she kept her grip and smiled up at him. "You live across town. Stay the night with me. I'm just a few houses down," she reminded him.

It only took a moment's hesitation to tell her yes. Who was he to deny her and pass up this opportunity? He guessed her home was as beautiful and artistic as she herself was, and he followed her there. The house itself was huge as he had expected, standing tall and sophisticated. The yard was far-stretched towards either direction, a large in-ground pool directly behind the house, a lively and exotic garden on both sides, the renowned weeping willow off to the side, a branch hanging just low and sturdy enough for a swing to be placed upon. James followed her inside of the house, keeping her supported while she tripped up the stairs and to the sitting room. They shared laughs on the velvet sofas, tasteful wine and cheese, a kiss or two, enjoying the company of one another.

Within the week, they were engaged, promised to one another in the sweetest way possible. Within the month they were married. Mr. and Mrs. Smith were the talk of the town, establishing the Smith Family Bank. Within the year they had a beautiful baby girl together, Virginia, and she looked just like her mother. She was the second light of James's life, the achievement that he was most proud of.

It has been a long time--too long to recount. It was the screaming that woke him from his slumber, jostling him from his bed and forcing him down the hall to their daughter's bedroom. The door was closed, and as he put his hand on the handle, James felt afraid of what he might find on the other side. He went into the room, only to find Ruth and Virginia laughing because it had been a mouse scampering across the floor, darting out into the hall. He sighed and rubbed his face. "Don't scream like that. I thought someone had broken in."

Ruth laughed softly and hugged their two-year-old daughter close, smiling at her husband. "I'm sorry," she giggled, "It just took us both my surprise is all. You should go back to bed. I'll join you shortly."

James sighed and shook his head. "I'm awake now. I'll go fix us some tea." He said and turned, headed back out of the room, and only smiling as he heard Virginia call a scrambled form of 'good night' after him. He stepped through the house and towards the kitchen, stopping momentarily in front of the fireplace to look at their framed pictures. He went and made the tea, took the two cups and went back to pass the fireplace again. The glass of the frames were covered in dust. How could that be? He set the cups down on the edge of the mantle, taking the sleeve of his shirt and gently wiping them all clean. Ruth must have been slacking again. She did that sometimes, forgot to dust the photos, the mantle. She forgot a lot of little things like that. James did not mind it much. He was not the type of husband to berate his wife for such silly reasons. He could take care of them himself, after all. He set the frames back straight and nodded his approval before picking the teacups back up.

The door was closed again. James paid it no mind as he made his way towards it. The lights flickered, once, twice, three times and then they were gone, shrouding him as well as his senses in darkness. Virginia screamed. He chuckled and felt along the wall. "It's okay, sweetheart, it's just the storm. Daddy is coming," he called but she did not respond.

James placed the cups down on the small table in the hallway and went to the door again, pushing on the door but he found it locked. "Ruth? The door is locked. Ruth, open the door for me," he said, but again there was no response. "Ruth, let me. Ruth?" Nothing. Not a breath. Not a peep. "Virginia?" The silence was more deafening than the loudest of screams, and he broke the door in. The room was pitch black, and he could not see anything around him, feeling his way around the room carefully. "Ruth, Virginia, where are you?"

They were not there. Not Ruth, not Virginia. He fearfully searched every crevice of the room, searching for the crib, the armoire, the changing table, the toybox, anything, but the room was as empty as a mourning heart.

The light nearly blinded him as the sun slowly rose over the horizon, shining through the dirty yet uncovered window, when James could have sworn pale pink curtains had been just minutes before. Sunlight flooded the empty room--empty minutes the box of packed blankets and little girls' clothes in the corner of the room, also dirty and covered in dust. He looked around the room again, gradually sinking to the floor and placing a hand over his face.

The dog days of August brought to end another summer, warning that soon the leaves would fall, the days would grow shorter and colder, and that all good things had to come to an end once again. He could not remember how many years it had been now, but for every few days between mid-July and mid-August he relived his past. He relived his wife, and their daughter. He forgot everything until the very end, the very last day of the season. How long would this continue? He had not the faintest clue. He could only lay upon the floor of Virginia's nursery and cry to the apathetic skies above him.

Memory is all around us, as well as within. It is what he had learned to be true, it is what we all know to be true. The world, the people in it, ourselves, everything--we are made up of memory. Without them we would be nothing. They are that necessary evil, even those which remind him that she was the kind of person who loudly insulted others' intelligence while neglecting her own. She was petty, disorganized, timid, demanding, forgetful, and selfish. She had been so very selfish. But he did not care. That was not his wife. His wife never would have destroyed what was her own, selfish as she was. He loved to remember his wife, that gentle-hearted woman, the one that held his hand in town and danced with him in the garden under the moonlight.

Her name was Ruth, and now she is gone.


	7. Days of Love

**"Days of Love" by Mariela Alejandra**

__________

Have you ever loved someone so dearly you thought of no one but that person? I did, and it was my downfall. My name is Marjorie Audelotte, or, as people call me now, Marjorie Deger. I still remember those hot summer days and the wonders I experienced. Ever since those days, I have not been the same. What happened, you might be asking yourself. Well, within those beautiful days, I met the love of my life.

It all started with my arrival in Italy. I was a young woman with dreams and, of course, going to Italy was one of them. It was towards the end of the summer, hot as could be, but to me, it was the perfect time to go. Just like any other vacation, I quickly headed to my first destination, a restaurant near the beach. The restaurant itself was gorgeous—white and blue painted walls and a lot of variation in the decorations. I still remember that I sat at one of the tables outside the restaurant, on the balcony. It was a sunny day so I wanted to enjoy it. Everything was normal until I saw her. With green eyes that made her look like she was shining, soft brunette curls that framed her face in such beautiful ways, and freckles that looked like soft stars on that pale skin of hers, she was perfect. Sadly, my thoughts were interrupted as she walked over to my table. She was working at the restaurant.

"Good afternoon. My name is Jane, and I'll be serving you on this lovely day. May I suggest you some appetizers to start with?" She asked, her voice soft and sweet. I stared at her for a few minutes, astonished by her beauty.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't playing much attention. Yes, I would love to hear your suggestions." I said as I rapidly wiped my sweaty hands. She started recommending a few dishes, the usual for a waitress like her. I took some of the recommendations and ordered a shrimp salad as well as my main dish, pasta. The whole time I was there I could not stop staring at her, she must have thought that I was crazy.

"May I say something?" I asked before she left, while I looked over her features carefully.

"Yes?" She asked, a bit confused, but with a soft smile on her face.

"I must say you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen." I said with a smile and chuckle.

"Oh my... thank you." Jane replied, a blush on her face and a smile. I could tell she was a little embarrassed.

And with that she left to get me my lunch. Only that small conversation gave me the confidence to continue coming every day to that same restaurant. She would always be there, aside from Sunday. With her soft smile, curly hair, and small waist. I loved her so much. By the end of the first week I had already established a good friendship with Jane. She was a caring girl, kind and gentle. I was happy, but I wanted more. I knew I had to ask her out. I always had the fear that she would reject me, but if she did not want me, then I would go. After all, it was just a vacation.

As usual, she walked up to me when I arrived at the restaurant. Her regular smile greeted me, and she gave me the menu.

"Welcome back, Marjorie." Jane pauses while smiling and giggles softly. "You have become one of our loyal customers." She finishes.

"Well, of course, this is my favorite restaurant, after all. And you are here." I said softly. I remember that I made her blush by that comment— ah she was so sweet.

"Thank you..! A-Are you taking the usual?" Jane asked with her soft smile.

"Yeah. But before that, I would like to ask you something." I said.

"Yes?" She said, smiling.

"Would you go on a date with me?" I asked softly. This was it. If she did not want this, then this would be the end of this fantasy in my head.

Her face lit up and became red, embarrassed in the end. She puts a hand on her face to cover it a little and looks away a bit. "S-So sudden..."

"Ah—yeah sorry. I shouldn't have-" I was stopped by her gentle, sweet voice.

"Yeah... we can go on a date." Jane said quietly while looking away. Her blush was still present on her round cheeks and nose.

I remember that I was the happiest girl once I heard that. She had said yes! I had to control myself and not jump on her.

"Thank God." I said softly and chuckled. That one made her giggle. I remember I asked her when she was free, and she told me that later that day she would have time. I could not wait to be with her.

By the end of the day she walked outside the restaurant. I was waiting for her outside. She was smaller than I thought. Her waist was slender but curvy. She had on a small burnt-orange crop-top and some baggy jean overalls, as well as some white sneakers. She was the cutest girl to exist.

"Since you're from here, where should we go?" I asked her with a smile. She giggled and thought about it a bit before grinning.

"I know. Come with me." She says and takes me by my hand. I blushed a bit, but I followed her. We arrived at the beach. She smiled. "I love this place." She added.

It was a beautiful beach, but her being there made it perfect. Her hair moved with the wind as she looked towards the sunset.

Ah, fuck it, I remember thinking. I walked up to her and gently took her hand. "I thought I could do this a little slower, but... I really like you." I said softly.

Her face went red, including her ears. She covered her face gently, but she was smiling. "I... damn." She said softly and giggled.

"Why?" She asked quietly, still blushing.

"Because you're so very lovely, I can't help but fall for you. Though I met you not so long ago... I just think you are the best person I've ever met and you're very pretty." I looked her in the eyes; we both stared at each other.

I gently leaned closer to her, and we kissed. That kiss lasted for quite some time. She was not very experienced, but at least she knew how to kiss. After a few moments we parted, and she quickly looked down and blushed.

"I... like you too." She murmured and I smiled and hugged her tightly.

Like that, my perfect love story had begun, but sadly, this anecdote does not have a good ending. We ended up spending the whole vacation together, living our best life, being happy, being ourselves. Unfortunately, what I have not told anyone yet is that I come from a very wealthy and powerful family. They had been watching me since the beginning, and when I was the happiest, I had to go.

The last day of my vacation I stayed in my apartment with Jane. I told her that we could not go on...

"Why?" Jane demanded with tears already in her eyes.

"My family... they are forcing me to marry this rich man. For the sake of the family." I said with a growl, frowning. Of course, there was no way a family like my own would approve of my relationship with Jane. Even if I had fought, I knew they would do whatever it took to have me married to a rich man.

"You will always be my baby, my sunshine... my beloved. I really love you, my Jane..." I said to her and began to cry with her. We were quite emotional back then if you could not already tell.

The next day I went back. I was presented to the man and in a few months, we were married. I have not heard anything else from my beloved Jane since then. I still love her, and I will forever love her. But for now, I must say goodbye since I have a sweet son and three daughters to attend. I hope she is doing good;I know that she is. She is strong and I am sure she is with her new special person. Still, I cannot help but hope to see her again.


	8. The King of the Streets

**"The King of the Streets" by FloweryBubbleDragon**

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There was a wild feral in the town of Hetomo. An ugly and foul thing, they called her.

Her name was Halo, but they called her Ugly after she hospitalized her eighteenth master.

Ugly was not like other cats. She was a cat spirit, but she was not like many of those either. She was a tuxedo cat, but her markings stained her skin as well.

Her skin, which alternated from snow white to almost black at sharp lines, and her eyes, one a brilliant blue and the other a deep amber, made her quite the prize. Only thing was, few could catch her and even fewer could keep her.

In her life she had been under fifty-four masters. Forty-two of which had been hospitalized by the wild cat's claws. No matter what they did she always escaped them, and no one could lure the cat in.

They called her Ugly, King of the Streets. The other cats all thought her a rebellious hero and a few had even learned to follow her. They were often called Ugly's Demons.

After the fifty-fourth master, though, the people left Ugly alone—still called her names and sprayed her with their hoses if she came too near their houses, but did not go following her, nor did they try to sell her to anyone.

She roamed the streets and they liked to say she played in the sheets. Many male cats tried their luck to bait her in, none had succeeded.

In Hetomo, Ugly worked around the docks, checking fish for fishers, and inspecting nets. She had a nose for disease and could tell you if a fish were bad to a point where cooking could not save it from just a sniff at it.

Three towns over, however, where she was known still as Halo, she slept.

Three nights and a full day a week, Ugly was never found in Hetomo, but three towns over and normally in another cat's garden.

A very pretty, obviously specially bred cat lived three towns over. Her name was Tsubaki. She had glowing white fur and a stunningly fair complexion. Soft freckles were splashed over her cheeks and nose and she had the most beautiful green eyes in all the worlds.

And Halo adored her.

Tsubaki had an easy going master that did not mind a stray like Halo hanging around, and Halo hardly minded Tsubaki's master.

The purebred was a playful thing that loved her garden and loved showing it to Halo. They were pleasantly surprised to find that Tsubaki also liked to be laid down in her flowers when the summer nights turned warm in different ways.

Halo had first fallen for the purebred's eyes that glowed like stained glass when the sun shined in them, then her smile that radiated light like the sun, and her laugh that reminded Halo of the melodious wind chimes in a summer breeze and then, after Tsubaki had shared such innocent curiosity in Halo's tuxedo-marked skin, the whole of her.

The first time they had been caught in the flowers Tsubaki's master had not been pleased. Fortunately, later he came to see there was no point in trying to stop the two, and that it was easier, better, even, just to let them be. Tsubaki always seemed to be in a brighter mood after Halo came by, sex had or not had, anyway.

It did not matter how many times someone tried to own Ugly, Halo always got away and went back to her angel.

Her angel, though, was a show cat. A popular one, too. Many masters would come and ask for kittens, hoping to find beauty like Tsubaki for themselves.

Tsubaki was far from pleased when her master finally made her breed. She did not like it in the least, but in return for behaving, her master paid Halo, so the stray did not have to work and could stay with Tsubaki longer.

Tsubaki did enjoy that. And when the kittens came, she enjoyed the later and steamier nights of summer when she had a much older cat on her teat as well.

Of course, the kittens loved Halo, their father, as far they cared. And so, Halo came to sleep three towns over, four nights a week.

The kittens all were show cats, like their mother, but they enjoyed it, and they especially loved winning big shows since their master would take them out with Halo in town to get ice cream.

Even after the kittens left, Halo always went back to her angel. And without kittens around, it was fun to bed the white show cat in the flowers again. Tsubaki, of course, tsked and called her naughty afterwards, but was that not the fun of summer?


	9. Yellow

**"Yellow" by L.R. Cole**

__________

As the sun breaks from its chains it is the colour that floods the valley of her hometown. When she thinks of her father's eyes, it is the flicker of candlelight that dances in her memory of them. It is the hundreds of flowers that flood the vineyards of her yesteryear in the summer before the harvest bears fruit. It is the colour of the bees and their labour in the time before she will finally come home. When she reflects on the past, she wishes she still had, it is the colour of her mother's dress and the daffodil crown within her sister's hair. In the back of her mind's eye it is the flickering embers of a long-forgotten winter fire that putters out as the mellowness of the atmosphere lures her memories to sleep.

When she steps outside for the first time in days it is the colour that greets her with a broad smile as it bathes the trees and refracts in the morning dew into amber beams. It is the hue the sky is dyed in the yawning of the morning and late afternoon. As the sun breaks from its nighted cage, it is the colour that floods the valley of her hometown. When she thinks of her father's eyes, it is the shade calling her home. When she steps off the plane it is the colour that leads her to the old beaten roads of her yesteryear showered in the lull of the last harvest days. When she steps out of the taxi that exemplifies a hundred dirty hues of it, the colour welcomes her to the hometown of her memories. As the sun rises from the ashes anew, it is the colour that her family wears with a smile. It is the colour of happiness.

Summer wears on, and the colour dances across her arms along with the sunbeams. It filters through the leaves of the orchards when her family visits, casting itself as a soft glow on the blankets she laid out. It is the colour of the mid-July sun as it sits fat and full in the wavy lines of the vibrant blue sky. It is the colour of her sister's new swimsuit, decorated with the outlines of dozens of sunflowers. The orchards surround a pristine lake, and the colour bounces off the rippling waters as reflections of the sun. The colour sticks to her lips as she bites into the ice-pop melting in her hands. The taste of lemon tickles across her tongue and she squints as she looks out at the lake. Her mother and father sit together on an old wooden bench, and the wide-brimmed hat atop her mother's head bearing this colour in its flaxen weave brushes against her father's forehead as they lean in close.

When her birthday dawns one July morning, it is the colour of the honeycomb opal earrings her parents' gift to her. A small piece of them to keep with her when she has to go back to the city. It is the colour of the buttercup quilt her sister hands to her shyly, decorating the masterpiece of love with pale petals and near-golden threads. The colour paints the singing canaries as they flutter around the trees just outside the window. It cradles the morning in soft sunlight, a gentle gift from the ancient star itself. The day lives out wholly in this colour, teasing smiles out of the girl and her family, infectious grins and laughter echoing from underneath their neighbour's lemon trees.

When they eat lunch, this colour spreads across her toast underneath her knife, melting almost instantly into the bread. Once lunch finishes, the banana-split-sundae that they order holds the palest tones of this colour. It is delicious. The hours of eating and talking seem to pass slowly as this colour darkens within the sky, the sun drifting ever closer to the horizon yet seeming to never move at all. Bellies full and making their way back home, her family glimpses this colour in a cloud of light yellow butterflies as they flitter from each flower bush lining the road. The girl herself lounges in the seemingly endless hours, body heavy and wishing for these golden times to last as long as they feel they do.

But eventually, when summer draws itself close to the end, the colour that has draped itself over these blissful days decorates the skies as a gold-edging creeping into them. In that last evening and now, the parting morning, the colour greys at the edges. it is the colour she knows the leaves will turn when this interim time is over. But now, in this odd seasonal twilight, it is the colour of the flecks within her mother's hazel eyes as she smiles. The colour sags in the old threadbare wool sweater her father wears as he waits for her by the door. The colour smiles up at her from the sticky-note she finds stuck to her suitcase, signed by her family with funny little comments. The old taxi that picks her up dusts this colour in old dried dirt, muting its once vibrant sheen.

The sunflower fields that bloomed with happy bounces at her arrival in June now droop, their petals dipped in the colour drooping as if sad to say goodbye. The young wheat fields from back then are now whistling in the breeze, their grains alight with this colour as the new sun casts its light onto them. She passes them all in turn, watching as the fields are exchanged for rising hills and looming mountains. Bunches of wildflowers bearing this colour grow in every available crevice, swaying their goodbyes in the breeze. For the girl, hours drift into one another, the colour that has followed her from her hometown blazing brightly in the sky only to leave streaks behind as the afternoon ebbs. Approaching the city, this colour screams at her from a thousand different neon signs, barely leaving any room for the Yield sign that holds this colour in quieter shades.

It doesn't take long after entering the city for the girl to climb up to her apartment, the sun gazing through the staircase windows and painting this colour on the wall in lines. She sets her things down, leaving them to be put away later. Then she makes her way to the balcony, eyes glued to the skyline. The colour peers from behind skyscrapers, emanating from the sun and reflecting from the stretching windows in the most beautiful of ways. One last sunset for these odd moments, striking this colour as one last bell toll before they end. The girl smiles, her eyes creasing and lips bending softly. This colour, spanning across all these months and far into these dog days, blinks off. The girl settles into the orange of autumn.


	10. How Fear Compels Us

**"How Fear Compels Us" by Izzy Reigne**

__________

It was when the foolish swine betrayed the treaty and declared war upon our neighborly kingdom of the Numidians that "we" brought the bloodshed right to their doors. We raged and surged, brought on fury for nearly two years. Carthage withheld. When General Scipio Aeumilianus took charge, my fellow soldiers and I were more than ready to drop. This was the third time, and we had grown wary and dumb.

We destroyed house after house, citizen after citizen, mule after mule, and we ate their food to our fullest desires. For seven days we stormed through, General Scipio pressing us closer and closer to the citadel. Much blood was shed in the seven days alone, more than hardly any of us would ever have liked to see. It was the seventh day, I believe, that I myself had been driven to the brink of lunacy. It was early that morn' as we sat amongst ourselves, small groups around small fires, eating what remained in our hands and pockets. It was ever so silent. So disturbingly silent that I swore I had heard a pin drop.

"Titus," I vaguely remembered hearing, the exhaustion having worn me down so much so I could barely offer a nod of acknowledgment. Thaddeus strode up and plopped his heavy body down beside me, muscles tight as he moved to nudge me and make sure I still breathed. "Titus, the General says that we are to move in an hour. He says we have gotten close to the citadel now, and the barbarians will be soon to give in."

"That so?" I mumbled, looking down into the embers of what had been our fire a few hours prior.

Thaddeus nodded, his grime-covered curls nearly bouncing as he did so. "I've to let the others know. Prepare to leave soon, brother." He clamped his large hand down on my shoulder in a rough yet friendly manner, and I ought to have winced, had my whole body not already ached tremendously—I could not feel anything more. He rose himself back up out of the dirt, then I watched him walk to the other fires to spread the news from our great and powerful General, who I believed still resting with his prized harlots in his tent. Neither me or the others had tents to rest in, nor blankets for that matter. We had learned not to complain about that, as a dear friend of ours had been made an example to us a few days ago. Fear compelled us to obey, and obey we did.

It would not be much longer, though, and for that, we were thankful. All I wanted was to return home to my wife and my children—my dear Adara, so swollen with the fruit of our love, and I wanted nothing more than to hold her in my arms and to be there for her when she delivered our child and grew our home. In order to reach that peace, however, a man must fight for his place in his country.

We marched on that day, I, under the colors on cloth of black and red, sword within its sheath and the pike tightly gripped within my sweaty hand. It was a hot day. The sky was cloudless and blue, yet no birds sang, no drums were beat. We marched on towards our goal, and we shed the blood as necessary, for hours, all for the sake of Rome, and to defeat this enemy so great.

Midday, I believe it was, we had broken for a rest. I wandered in the empty streets, splattered in blood and entrails, and I found myself pausing to the sound of a gentle weeping. As I turned the corner of an alley, I discovered a small, gorgeous child crouched down and hidden behind several crates. She was spotted in blood, as to be expected, and I had no doubt in my mind as not to believe it was her mother's blood she wore on her skin, and her eyes were large and blue—blue as the sky—her hair was tied back with a ribbon, so perfectly blonde and straight that anyone might place themselves to death for her—but she was alone. She was a Carthaginian. I had the right mind to turn around and walk the other way; in fact, I had planned to! I moved my heels to retreat, but Thaddeus had already come looking for my absent-minded self, and he saw. He saw the child, and only what could be described as horror crossed my face while sadism was executed upon his, and he drew his sword and yanked her up by the wrist. He pulled her up and out and made a show of the screaming and wailing girl as he brought her back to the others and put her to death. The blood of an innocent child—an angel—stained his hands, and he was so tired and so delirious that he smiled and went along with his day, as merry as a man in wealth. I could not believe my eyes, and neither could my stomach, but it did not stop me from emptying my dinner out into the streets.

We continued to march. We marched, slaughtered, rested, marched, slaughtered, rested—an endless cycle that we relived until we were cheering at dawn's rising for victory. The remaining people of Carthage had lowered their heads to us and stuck out their necks. We had won.

What happened after that still remained mostly as a blur to me—a fleeting moment in time that I do not particularly care to recall all that much. Roughly around 50,000 citizens of Carthage remained, and they had all been taken, stripped, burned, and sold into chains for what little worth they had left. It was a great victory for Rome, yes. We had won hegemony over the western Mediterranean and nothing could be better for us. Though, I could never get that girl's pleading face out of my dreams. I dreamt of her every night and cried to my wife, who could do little to console me as she knew not of the horrors of massacre and war.

My beautiful daughter, Valeria, was born midday one day in the most miserable heat. The sun was heavy in the sky, bearing down on us all, though the soft breeze whispered promises of change—change that was soon to come, to turn the colors of the leaves, to chill the air—autumn was on the rise. It was a period of listlessness for us, that is, my wife and me. One moment we were reading, the next our daughter decided to join us. She was a wonder. Her sky-blue eyes stared up at me.

As a chill in the air struck me already, I knew that I had been cursed. I had been cursed, and so had Thaddeus. All of the men in our legion had been cursed. And I knew that Rome had been cursed as well, and she was doomed to a fate worse than Hell. Those sky-blue eyes peered straight through me, reaching far into my soul, and grabbing hold, tight. Those same blue eyes from the dreams which haunted me endlessly in the slumbering world would forever remind me of what we had done in the waking world as well. It was a curse, a curse on us all, and one that we could never escape—one that we never did.

__________

_Carthage was an ancient Phoenician city-state and civilization located in present-day Tunisia. Founded around 814 BC as a colony of Tyre, within centuries it grew to become the center of the Carthaginian Empire, a major commercial and maritime power that dominated the western Mediterranean until the mid third century BC ... In 146 BC, after the third and final Punic War, the Romans destroyed Carthage and established a new city in its place a century later._


	11. Moon's Tale

**"Moon's Tale" by FloweryBubbleDragon**

__________

The night was dark and cold, and any stars that might have shown were hidden by the thick clouds above. Summer was supposed to be warm, but here it was as cold and frightening like the holiday they were on was turning out to be. The walls of the buildings all but disappeared around the three children as they wandered down the alley.

The oldest, a boy of twelve, led them towards a light at the end of the dark alley, hoping to find help from whomever was at its source. Following behind him was a girl of eleven and her twin brother.

"What if there's a demon down there?" The young girl asked the boy they followed.

"Demons can't hurt us if they don't know what we are," the twelve-year-old responded, pulling them along as they got closer to the light.

They could see now that the light source was a fire, and they could smell the burning of the hickory wood. The children wished silently for the s'mores they had cooked only nights before over a similar campfire. Near this fire was the vague outline of a man. Slowly, they approached, and the eldest boy called out.

"Hello? Sir, could you help us?" He asked.

"I could, but you should be asking if I would help you." The man chuckled in response.

The boy already did not like this man, a typical demon, he thought.

"Fine, would you help us, sir?" He asked again.

"Of course, it'd be cruel to leave children out in the dark by themselves," the man snickered.

The young twins clung to the twelve-year-old as he sighed with slight relief.

"Could you direct us to the train station or the town square?" He asked the man.

"I could but you—"

"Will you direct us to the train station or town square?" The boy snapped and cut him off.

The man chuckled and leaned forward, the features of his pale face and green eyes now visible in the light of the fire as his long, silver hair fell over his shoulders like a shimmering waterfall. The children backed away seeing the scars across his face and neck. He honestly looked like Halloween had come early.

"I was going to say I could, but you'd only get lost again since it's so dark. I could take you there myself instead, but I promised a friend I'd wait for her here, and I don't know when she'll arrive." The man smiled, sincerely looking kind despite his scars. "How about we wait until dawn? You'll be safe here by the fire with me."

"No! My mom says demons can't be trusted!" The younger boy cried.

"Just because you're in a city run and governed by the Night doesn't mean all the citizens are demons. There are more than just demons in the Night's Queendom you know. Actually, I myself am but a traveler, not a citizen of this city, and I'm just waiting for my companion before moving on. Don't get me wrong, Ithens is beautiful but it's not where we intend to stay." The man shrugged.

"You're not a demon then?" The girl asked, hiding with her twin behind the eldest of the three.

"No, I'm not!" The silverette laughed, almost falling back.

The children watched him, unsure what to think of the stranger they had found in the dark. It took a minute for the man to get his snickers under control.

Finally, he stopped laughing enough to carry on with the conversation, "What are your names, little ones?"

"Jarik." The twelve year old answered first, "These are my cousins, Marsa and Allyc."

"Well, now I can address you each, at least. Have a seat, little ones. It gets chilly at night with the breezes coming off the sea," he smiled at the three and offered a blanket to them.

Jarik took it and wrapped it around his young cousins as they sat down. He took a seat between them and the man, still a little untrusting of him.

"Who are you waiting for?" Allyc asked, finally finding his nerves again.

"Oh, just a close friend. She's like family to me and twice as stupid. Still hasn't learned to be careful and it seems she'll never get it through her head that the night is not the time to be wandering about," he shook his head and started laughing again.

"Oh...aren't you worried about her? I mean what if she did get hurt, or a demon grabs her or something?" Marsa asked, all three of them leaning closer to hear this odd man's answer.

"Trust me, it will take a lot more than a demon to stop that firework," he smiled at them, chuckling at their concern.

"What if the...what if the Moon got her?" Jarik dared to ask him.

"Queen Attaeya?" The man laughed. "I doubt the Queen would care much. Even if they walked straight into each other the worst I could see happening is a growl and a huff from the Queen while my sister ran off and snickered."

The children looked at each other, then back at the snickering man before asking, "How can you trust a beast known for warring with her siblings and killing anyone that upset her!?"

"That's only the side you hear. Don't you know the Moon's true tale?" The man tilted his head.

"No," all three answered.

"Well, then allow me to tell this tale to pass the time," he began, and seeing the eager nods from the children, continued. "So, as you know, Attaeya is a cold, cruel being bent on blood and chaos. But that's only one side of the story.

She was once a kind, loving young lass. She looked only to learn and share what she knew. If she could she aimed to improve and spread kindness, to make it as common as rain over the seas. But her siblings rejected her at every turn, naming her the tainted one. The cold one."

"If that's the case, why didn't she keep proving them wrong?" Marsa interrupted him.

"I'm getting there. Patience is said to be a virtue, you know...but honestly I can't say much since I don't have any!" The man laughed, almost face-planting into the fire.

The three looked at each other a little nervously, and then back at the man. He was nice, but his laughing outbursts were about as unpredictable as the summer storms of their home.

When he calmed down again, Jarik nudged him to continue, "Sorry for interrupting, please carry on."

The man smiled and nodded, "Well what was I saying... Oh, yes! They gave Attaeya new titles, forcing the obviousness of her element onto her. By the time the four had gotten physical forms, the 'pure three' had all but remade their sister. They had forced a new personality on her.

So, her body reflected that. A shining emerald eye and a glittering sapphire eye were the most memorable features of her pale body.

They didn't realize she had already been like her elements. And, yes children, the dark isn't always cold or dangerous. It can be safe as well, as many hot holiday nights with fireworks can remind us.

But her siblings forced a new persona on her. Every time they met they called her cruel, cold, murderous, uncaring, and so much more. They treated her as such, too.

Attaeya, though, only wanted to please her siblings, so over time, she slowly changed. At first, she only acted the part while they were around but soon enough, the acting was part of her actual personality."

"But why? Why would they do that, and how could she give in like that?" Allyc asked.

The man shrugged, "Would you die for your siblings?"

"Yes," all three of them answered in unison.

"In a way, that's what she did for them. She killed part of herself to force in a new part and make her sibling right. Guarantee they weren't the liars," the man frowned for once.

Jarik, Marsa, and Allyc had no answer, so instead they stayed quiet.

"Her green eye, originally thought to represent the lives she was destined to govern over, now became the split persona that had become a part of her," the man started again.

"But what did the blue eye represent?" Jarik asked.

"Her blue eye? That was for the waters, ice, and darkness. It was her rational side.

Her green eye, though, became a sign of her insanity. Something she hid with her hair and illusions. If it showed plainly, she had slipped into the dark depths of a personal hell in her head.

Now her blue still remained unchanged. Part of her fought against conforming to her siblings' wills and was still the collected and witty girl she had always been.

When she was able to keep her sanity and rational thought, she was still the kind and compassionate queen she'd been since coming into existence. Often, she would take in strays, cats, dogs, children. Race and species meant nothing; she'd help anything that moved..." The man finally trailed off.

"The moon isn't evil then...? She's just trying to make her siblings happy," Marsa mumbled.

"Always has been. In all honesty, the Queen is a total pushover, sucker for anything with a cute face," he shrugged. "Anyway. It's light enough now for you three to find the train station," the man stood up with a smile.

Indeed, the sun was rising, and Ithens' warmth and shine was once again showing in full. and the children, excited to find their parents, thought nothing of the man's unusual familiarity with the Moon. They were far too concerned with rejoicing for the morning they had not noticed creeping up.

"Right that way, little ones," he pointed down the street. "Straight down this road here, and a right, then carry on straight. You'll see it before you're even halfway down the street. Best of luck!" The man waved the three off.

They left him, following his instructions and excited to find their parents. But Jarik looked back at him, remembering suddenly they should thank him.

"Wait!" He called back, "What's your name?"

"Sullivan, it's Sullivan Viceford. My friends call me Sul, though," he smiled and waved to them again.

Jarik smiled and thanked him before all three waved once more and continued walking. After a minute, however, Allyc realized he knew that name.

Sullivan Viceford was the first Grim Reaper, friend of Death himself and the Moon herself, one of the three most feared creatures of the Night's Queendom. Right next to the Moon and Death, Sullivan Viceford was truly a man to fear and hide from. Yet...he had just entertained the three children and had kept them safe and warm throughout the cold night.

"Wait... He said his name is Sullivan Viceford..." Allyc said.

As he said it, the other two realized who that name belonged to. All three stopped and looked back, a little scared despite the kindness just shown to them.

What they saw caught them off guard. Sullivan was chatting happily with a girl just a little shorter than him. When the smiling girl glanced their direction, they saw her eyes... Her eyes were two different, vibrant colours. One blue, and the other green. The green eye was actually paler and hidden slightly by her hair...

The children looked away and hurried down the street, still scared of the two and wanting to put as much distance between them, and Sullivan and his 'sister', Attaeya, as they could.

When they looked back again from the end of the street the two were gone. No more than the children's memory of the encounter was left of them and the fading summer morning.


	12. Afterword

As Wikipedia says, "The dog days or dog days of summer are the hot, sultry days of summer. They were historically the period following the heliacal rising of the star system Sirius, which Hellenistic astrology connected with heat, drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck."

Yet, we write of romance, of tragedy, of fear, awe, nostalgia. We remember Gatsby's eternal love for Daisy, the lingering heat and perspiration on our skin at the hottest points that means fall lingers right around the corner. We are excited for what is to come, though the remorse that summer is ending shadows us to the very last day.

We authors came together to write these stories and to share them with you, to share the various emotions and scenarios that come about during these times, these Dog Days.

This project first came around as a random idea that popped into my head during a hot summer day when the window A.C. unit was certainly not enough to keep me cool, and I was stuck on it. What if we write about these? It is listlessness here for us, yet there are many greater tales both fictional and nonfictional that use these idle times to their advantage, their joy. And so, me being me, I went everywhere looking for other writers to join me in my quest for creativity. I was lucky to find those I did just in time to finish the book as early as we have, and those that were talented each in their own unique ways.

As I begin to wrap up the bulk of the editing process for this project, I already begin to wonder what else there is to be done. I am considering, already, yes, a winter project, where I hope to find other young writers to join us in unburying the creativity from the thin 2018 Louisiana "snow".

And as a last hurrah, I myself would like to thank these talented young writers for not only sharing with me their special works, but for doing what they do as bravely as any could. Thank you, L.R. Cole, Carson Ledger, Mariela Alejandra, and FloweryBubbleDragon, for your participation and originality in this project. I hope to work with you again and to see more of your own writings in the upcoming future.

**-Izzy Reigne**


	13. About the Authors: Carson Ledger

**About the Author: Carson Ledger**

__________

Carson Ledger was born in 2004. He first got into writing when he was only 6 years old, making up superheroes and villains with his cousin (which would later become a lifelong hobby), and he started getting serious about writing when he performed a reading of his short story "Kaz The Hero" that surprised many people by how good it was. In turn, he began to write more and more. He has been working on getting one of his books published since late 2017 and started working on a comic book adaptation of "Kaz". He got into Lovecraftian monsters and H.P Lovecraft stories to the point he tried to emulate it in his short story "What Lies Beyond" and since then (early 2020) he has been writing horror and short stories. Carson wrote many of his stories in under 30 minutes and "In the Corner" was done in five minutes. He is still working on both his book and comic book today.

**Wattpad**  
CarsonLedger


	14. About the Authors: L.R. Cole

**About the Author: L.R. Cole**

__________

L.R. Cole is a young, seventeen-year-old American-Filipino author. She has been writing for several years and even has original poetry published in the 2018 _Futures_ poetry collection by the America Library of Poetry. She is actively working on her first original book, _terminate_ , a book that she has been writing since the summer of 2018 and is of the Sci-Fi/Dystopian genre. She loves to write, sing, and read as much as she can. Currently, she lives in Texas, USA.

**Wattpad**  
air-commander

**Archive of Our Own  
** candy_floss_consumer

**Facebook  
** medicalcoffeeburst (Laura Rose Cole)

**Instagram  
** candy.floss.consumer


	15. About the Authors: Izzy Reigne

**About the Author: Izzy Reigne**

__________

Izzy Reigne is an eighteen-year-old (nineteen come January) Louisiana college freshman who typically goes by her nickname Izzy. Izzy is an avid reader and writer, a music fanatic, and animal lover. She has been writing since she was in middle school, and she has a true passion for it. In her free time, she is almost always writing some sort of fiction, or playing with her kitten, Noir. She graduated in 2020 from Sulphur High School with honors, and she now attends the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, majoring in Journalism, and she plans one day to either be a Journalist,Communications/Journalism teacher, Creative Writing/English teacher, or anything else that falls into line, as she has no idea really what she wants to do with herself yet, but no matter what, writing will always be a major part of her life.

**Wattpad  
** Izzy_Reigne

**Instagram  
** izzy_reigne **  
**

**Archive of Our Own  
** Izzy_Reigne


	16. About the Authors: Mariela Alejandra

**About the Author: Mariela Alejandra**

__________

Mariela Alejandra is an eighteen-year-old author and college student from Puerto Rico. She has been writing for the last five years, and she is very passionate about it. Though she has written many stories, she is currently working on more short stories and her original book called "La epidemia", a book written in her native language, Spanish. She is a very creative person that loves to draw, sing, and write, obviously.

**Wattpad**  
lelikun1234

**Instagram**  
Alejandra.leli

**Facebook**  
Lelimarie0 (Mariela A. Olivencia)


	17. About the Authors: FloweryBubbleDragon

**About the Author: FloweryBubbleDragon**

__________

FloweryBubbleDragon is a young American writer primarily sharing short stories and novelettes on her Wattpad account. She is referred to as _the void_ by her friends (all hail the glow cloud or fight). She enjoys meeting new people and making new friends. She likes manga, anime, art, fantasy, gothic, dark fantasy, and animals. She has written a book, _Tanked_ , and works on a collection of short story snippets called _Snips and Snaps_ , all on her Wattpad account.

**Wattpad  
** FloweryBubbleDragon


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